


Segway Caterers

by fanfictiongreenirises



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen or Pre-Slash, How Do I Tag, Thomas is doing a catering course, depending on what you wanna see it as, like it was supposed to be slash but it didn't happen??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 03:40:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11477865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises
Summary: Alexander is at a charity gala and he is slipping. Literally.Who better to show him the ropes than Thomas Jefferson, one of the students hired to cater at the event?





	Segway Caterers

**Author's Note:**

> hahAHhAHHAh I can't believe I'm actually posting this *sweats nervously*
> 
> So my friend was brainstorming with me for this fic of hers over breakfast, and she needed some sort of idea for a waitressing/servant AU. So I suggested this. And she didn't take me seriously. T_T. I was being completely serious.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy =D

Alex cursed softly as he fiddled with his bowtie, fighting the urge to rip it off his neck. He wasn’t claustrophobic, but there were things – such as having what he considered to be the equivalent of a noose around his neck, both literally and figuratively – that tended to make him uncomfortable.

This wasn’t his normal get-up, as was rather evident; while he did his best to follow the instructions and advice from John and Lafayette on how to best present himself (and Hercules on how to best present his clothing), there was a stiffness to his posture and his hands were constantly fidgeting.

A soft _ping_ from his pocket (his marvellous inside pocket) drew his attention away from his collar. A text from John. Scanning its contents – John always tended to ramble when he was emotional, even in texts – he mentally groaned. For some obscure reason that John failed to mention in all his furious language, he couldn’t come to the charity gala.

Alex was on his own.

He felt the familiar sense of overwhelming panic rising up and threatening to choke him. He couldn’t go in there alone and try to make conversation and keep himself and his opinion in check all night. He barely knew how to walk on the overly polished (and, frankly, a health hazard) marble floors of the hall without slipping. How was he supposed to survive this?

* * *

So it’d taken about an hour, but Alex had made himself listen to pre-recorded pep talks from himself, to himself. (He’d created them at the start of the year, at the request of his then-roommate, Lafayette, who’d threatened to kick him out if he didn’t stop “babbling to himself in the middle of the night”. They ranged from “Hamilton, grow the fuck up and go outside” to “imagine everyone looks like Thomas Jefferson”. And then there were the “YOU CALL THIS AN ESSAY?” and “IF THIS IS WHAT YOU THINK EFFORT LOOKS LIKE, YOU NEED NEW GLASSES” ones. Needless to say, he had quickly gotten carried away.)

After listening to all of them – there were twenty-nine – he drew in a breath and looked in the mirror. He’d have to run a comb through his hair again, but other than that, he was ready. Now he just needed to get someone to give him a lift.

He really should’ve thought about this an hour ago.

“Eliza, hey,” he tried for his friendliest voice.

“Yes, I’ll give you a ride,” was what she greeted him with.

Alex blinked. “Oh my god you’re psychic. How could you not tell me this before?! Oh my god is that why you wouldn’t go out with me, were my thoughts too—”

“John called me,” Eliza interrupted him, laughing softly.

“Ah.”

After a second of silence, she continued, “I’ll be outside your place in about five minutes. 

Alex smiled gratefully, only just stopping himself from running his hands through his hair. “Thanks, Eliza. You’re the best.”

“And I didn’t go out with you because I’m gay. For Maria. I’m very gay for Maria.”

“…wow. Did you just officially come out to me?”

“What do you mean, officially? How’d you know?!”

“You guys’ve been dating for a year? Publicly. Very publicly. You introduce her as ‘my sun and stars’.”

“And you never thought I was just a massive Game of Thrones fan?! I thought I was being subtle!” 

* * *

Alex stood outside the doors, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pushing the doors open and walking in with fake confidence. Already, he could feel the toll the floor was taking on him. He probably looked constipated trying to not fall.

The inside was magnificent, and if this had been his first time here, he’d’ve spent the entire time staring at the beautiful architecture of the place (he was always a slut for good architecture). The marble floors shone and reflected the lights of the overly grand chandeliers, giving the whole room a bright golden glow. The windows surrounding the hall were massive, framed with heavy maroon curtains that looked like their weight required more than one person to pull them back. There was a very Gryffindor feel to the whole place.

People in fancy clothing worth more than the entire apartment complex he lived in milled around, making conversation and holding their champagne glasses in an artistic manner that was unique to the rich. He had copied it off John and Laf enough to know how to do it, but it didn’t come naturally yet. He wanted it to come naturally one day.

“Alexander!” A voice behind him made him spin around, almost falling over in the process. It was Professor Washington, the chairman of the organisation and Alex’s professor.

Washington reached him and clasped his hand, smiling warmly. His hand was warm against Alex’s ever-freezing fingers. “Son, I’d like you to meet Mr Adams.”

“Alexander Hamilton,” he said, greeting Adams the way John had drilled into him. (Laf had tried, but it seemed that the French were far more intimate than Americans were, and judging by John’s look of horror, Alex had quickly grasped what _not_ to do, and what _never_ to do).

“Alexander is one of my best students,” Washington said. Alex felt himself warm up inside; no matter how many times Washington said this, he would never tire from the feeling.

Adams seemed rather disdainful. “That may be very well, but they let anyone into that college. Your students seem a rather…small…bunch. You know the offer to join us at Redford is always on the table.”

Alex bristled at this slight to his height, and his college. Just as he was about to open his mouth, Washington shoved a flute of champagne in his hand and calmly replied, “I am very happy where I am, thank you, Mr Adams.”

Adams nodded his head sharply, before spotting someone in the crowd. “Excuse me,” he said before flitting away.

Washington seemed to deflate with relief at his departure. He shook his head. “That man…”

“Why’d you introduce him to me if you barely like him,” Alex couldn’t help asking.

“He’s on the college board, and a very influential figure. He’s a good person to have in your pocket,” Washington said, taking a small sip. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Alexander. The finger foods are calling to me.”

Alex smiled. They’d been calling to him since he entered, but it seemed impolite to make a beeline to the food the minute he walked in, so he’d been putting it off. 

That, and it’d mean walking great lengths of this godforsaken marble floor, which he _really_ couldn’t do. He’d thought sneakers on this flooring was bad, but dress shoes with no grip was infinitely worse.

And then, he spotted something that changed his night. The college hospitality class had been hired to cater and serve at the function. One of them – Jefferson – was carrying around a tray of some sort of finger food, making his way through the crowds. But he didn’t walk, he _glided._ He went smoothly from one group to another, never even looking like he was taking a step – and really, it was quite spooky, seeing as all the waiters were wearing floor-length dresses that reminded Alex of the outfit nuns wore.

He had to talk to him. He could teach him how to walk like a fucking queen and then Alex would be fine. While Alex didn’t exactly get along with Jefferson (in his head, he could hear John snort at the understatement), right now he would sell his kidney to him if he’d just show him how to walk on this damn marble floor without killing himself.

* * *

But it was so difficult to get him on his own. It was like Jefferson was avoiding him for some reason (Alex laughed in his head. “For some reason”. He knew exactly why Jefferson wouldn’t come near him, and normally, it’d be the same reason for him to avoid Jefferson too.) But for once in his life, he actually had to talk to the obnoxious man, so this was very inconvenient.

Alex finally found the opportunity to corner Jefferson after removing himself from a conversation with John’s father. (If he was forced to be around that man for another second, he would be going to jail for murder, and he didn’t think John would like having to pay rent by himself). He turned around to go to the bathroom, and spotted Jefferson walking out through a set of doors to the side, obviously not meant for the guests.

Abruptly changing direction and grabbing onto a pillar to stop himself from losing his balance, he followed Jefferson through the doors. The doors led to the kitchens, and there were platters with various types of delicacies lined up on a counter. It wasn’t difficult to spot Jefferson – his poof of hair combined with his height made it hard to lose him in a crowd.

“Jefferson,” Alex called, walking over.

 Jefferson jumped. “Hamilton?!”

Of course the idiot hadn’t noticed him the entire two hours he’d been here. Alex sighed in frustration, but continued on. Better to cut right to the chase. “I need you to teach me how to walk.”  

Okay, maybe he should’ve phrased that differently, because now Jefferson was looking at him strangely. “Um,” he said. “Are you telling me you’re too stupid to realise you can walk?”

Alex gritted his teeth. “I need you to teach me how to walk on this fucking marble flooring. You’re doing it in a floor length _dress_ without tripping.” Although Jefferson falling flat on his face would’ve filled Alex with much more happiness.

Jefferson stared at him, then started laughing. Really laughing. Not the fake cackle he always saved for Alex’s presence, but the full body laugher that made him look a hundred times more human.  _And hot_ , Alex's brain unhelpfully added. 

“What,” Alex asked flatly. He hated not knowing everything, a common feeling when he was around this douchecanoe.

 Jefferson took another few seconds to swallow his laughter, and then he lifted the dress.

 Alex immediately turned away. “Ew, I don’t want to see your gross giraffe legs.”

 “At least I’m not a fucking midget – and no,” he added, seeing Alex open his mouth indignantly, “you’re not average height. So shut it and look.”

 Alex looked, and gaped. Jefferson was stood upon a Segway. This one was much more compact than usual, but it was undeniably a Segway.

“You bastard, that’s cheating!” he raged, punching Jefferson’s upper arm. There was windmilling of his long arms as Jefferson tried desperately to balance on the Segway, but to no avail. He grappled for the nearest object – Alex – to cling to in hopes of not falling, but Alex’s balance was already terrible. And the kitchens, for some reason, used the same stupidly slippery marble. They went down like a sack of potatoes, elbows and knees landing in awkward places as they end up on the floor, Alex squashed beneath Jefferson and his Segway.

“Ugh,” he muttered. “Just what my suit needed.”

“Shut up, your suit looked shit anyway,” Jefferson snapped at him as he attempted to lift the Segway off himself.

“You’re one to talk,” Alex retorted, glancing at Jefferson’s waitressing outfit. It was completely black, with the only patch of colour being the college logo on his chest. “You look like you belong in a nunnery.”

“Mulligan designed these, so any complaints you have should go to him. And I’d make a fine nun,” Jefferson said, smirking down at where Alex was still sprawled. He used what felt like an excessive amount of pressure with his elbows as he got up. “Still want those ‘walking lessons’?”

“Fuck you, Jefferson.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yay you made it to the end! Thanks for reading =D
> 
> Btw I know almost nothing about how the school board works so pls ignore anything I got wrong


End file.
